


Concupiscence

by Aris



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mates, Panic Attacks, Potions, Sheriff Stilinski is a cat, Starvation, The Alpha Pack, Werewolf Healing, Witchboy Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 16:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3494594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aris/pseuds/Aris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Alpha Pack are getting out of control, killing townsfolk and encroaching on The Pack's territory; everything's hectic and no-one's quite sure what to do. </p><p>Luckily, Derek knows a guy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Concupiscence

**Author's Note:**

> **READ THE PREVIOUS WORK IN THE SERIES FOR CONTEXT**
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> I totally got the series name from [this song.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-BakWVXHSug)
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> Tags added as I go.
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> Unbetad. All mistakes are mine, feel free to point them out.

Derek tries to find him again, the Spark in the forest - Stiles.

After cleaning his wounds, Stiles had set him up to sleep in his own bed. The mattress had been a mismatch of patchwork materials and a dulled fur was a soft pillow - the fabrics in the room smelt alarmingly of fear, sweat and Stiles own natural aroma. Derek remembers the way his heart had clenched just a little, how he had looked back up at the shadows under Stiles eyes and how the Spark had just smiled sadly back at him, gripping his calf lightly and telling him to get some sleep, to heal. He remembers John's eyes, bright in the frame of the door before he drifted off into darkness.

When he awoke again it was to the call of birds, to the feel of grass on his cheek and sun in his eyes. A small bag had been left next to him - in it, a glass vial of the leaves and another of the blood, and tucked at the bottom lay a bead necklace, threaded with one small black feather.

###### 

He walks from the building, feeling the beginnings of a headache catch onto his temples. He knows that logically, he won't get a headache simply from stress, he doesn't get sick - not like that, anyway - but he can't help but feel hard done by. Deaton, the towns leader, had been giving him a justifyingly rough time about the recent actions of The Alpha Pack.  
Without having found a way to fight them and win, or even convince them to leave, they remained free throughout Peter's territory. They attacked the Pack and they attacked any townsfolk who were in the wrong place at the wrong time with no protection. The Pack, Derek could help with - but the towns people? He couldn't make them go out in groups, couldn't stop them coming into the forest or trust them to hold their own. They had to forge on with their lives, make enough money to survive and the forest was the source of their dwindling wealth - wood, herbs, meat and berries. Derek couldn't take it from them if he tried.

So, they kept dying. And with every death Derek became more desperate, and Deaton became angrier and more insistent with his threats of calling in The Hunters. The Hunters would kill every werewolf from here to the next two villages over; including Peter's Pack. Derek kept asking for more time on Peter's behalf, insisting this time he would get them and stop anymore more unnecessary bloodshed. There were pups in his Pack, but equally there were children in this town. Dead children, if a solution wasn't found in time.

The truth was, every single one of them was a powerful Alpha capable of taking down at least two Betas, and when it came down to it The Pack just wasn't strong enough. But Derek would find a way, because there was always a way and he would _not_ give up now.

A flash of familiar green caught his eye, and he jolted to the side, facing now towards The Market, sharp eyes quickly settling down on the source of the colour; a tall character in a green coat. A strange warmness welled to his surface as he recognised Stiles standing in front of a stall, his leather bag hanging at his side and not even a dead bird in sight. 

Before he could register his movement, Derek was halfway across the street and approaching Stiles, a greeting already ready on his tongue. The young Spark was haggling for a small piece of meat, far from the best cut, and seemed to be paying in herbs rather than money. 

"... It's out of season. I can't trade for anything less, I'm sorry." Stiles says in a voice of finality as Derek reaches his side. Stiles looks surprised to see Derek, eyes shining momentarily when Derek nods to him as a hello, abruptly tongue-tied. The woman behind the stall eyes Derek suspiciously, clearly aware of who he is, before relenting to Stiles. with clear discomfort. 

"Fine. Don't think I won't remember this, kid." Her voice is scratchy as Stiles hands a brown pouch of what seems to be some kind of herb over. She closes fabric over the cut and shoves it roughly at Stiles, leaning down instantly to tuck the herbs away, "Get out of here."

Stiles turns to Derek, smiling faintly at him and gesturing for the werewolf to walk alongside him as he ventures deeper into the market.

"I trust you found your way back alright, then?" He's leaning slightly towards him as he tucks the meat away securely at the bottom of his bag, flicking the flap back over and jostling the bundles hanging from the outer pockets. His proximity is distracting, in the way that Derek forgot how good he smelled. How _right_.

"The pack found me. No thanks to you," Stiles murmurs happily, stopping at another stall to touch upon a drawer of dried roots. He pauses the conversation as he passes over money for the weed-like plants, handling them carefully and pushing them into a more secure pocket closer to his body. The shop owned barely passes the odd duo another glance as he counts his money, tucking it away in grubby pockets.

"What were they?"

"Hm?" Stiles seems to snap himself out of his own thoughts, and then smiles brightly at Derek, "Maypop roots.They're not growing at the moment and my own stock ran out, I always hate having to buy things I could have collected myself, it's a waste of money, but I didn't know I'd need so much of of it." He pats his bag happily.

"What are they for?"

Stiles falters in his step, turning to peer at Derek in the crowded street. 

"You weren't this conversational before. " He looks for a moment longer, Derek feeling exposed under his honey-coloured gaze. Stiles rocks back on his feels, taking his lip into his mouth thoughtfully, darting his eyes along Derek's face.

"Come on, then. I have nothing else to buy. I just like to look at the stalls," He picks up his pace with a new purpose, Derek easily keeping up. "Mum used to take me here all the time. She knew all the shop owners, and she'd sell Bee pollen and Skullcap. She always bought me sweet milk, you know - milk and honey." They turn down into an alleyway leading away from the Market and town center. Derek's never tried milk and honey, but the way Stiles's face seems to soften at the memory makes him want to.

"I always loved it. The first time I came here alone, I thought people would be nice to me. For my mum's sake. But... well, that doesn't matter. They'll deal with me. Which is more trust than you can expect when you're a Spark." Stiles clicks his tongue, and Derek realises how concentrated on his face he is. It's a little... hollower, than last time. The shadows under his eyes are darker, too and he couldn't help but notice the way his hands shook during his transactions, handing over money and herbs. He's still attractive in that boyish way, but he looks somehow older. Wisened, perhaps.

Stiles continues to talk as they walk on, not giving Derek any chance to really reply. He finds he likes it, the lack of expectation from him even though Stiles _had_ taken him to talk. Apparently, talks with Stiles were very much one-sided. Derek, however had slowly started to realise he did want to talk, a small part of him had missed the odd boy and been disappointed when he realised he had preferred to move Derek into the forest rather than have him wake up in his home. Not only that, but Stiles was a Spark. A powerful one, if he could suspend an Alpha in the air like that. Stiles potentially was the answer the Pack needed to get rid of the Alpha Pack. It was strange to think the tall, skinny man next to him was capable of walking, let alone beating an entire pack of Alphas. But Derek would be a fool to judge a book by it's cover, especially one with such an _appealing_ cover. He could only hope the others agreed.

"... leading you out here to kill you or anything. I need to pick some Lemongrass before nightfall, and this stream has a patch just around this corner." Derek belatedly realised he was being led up a path into the forest, the village not too far behind them but enough away that Derek must have been zoned out for ten minutes, lulled by Stiles voice and his own mind. He glanced guilty towards Stiles, but the pale man didn't seem to have noticed anything out of the ordinary, pushing forward with his usual stride, bells and beads hitting against the leather of his bag.

They reached the curve in the path and abruptly Stiles veered off the well trodden ground, venturing nearer the stream running adjacent. He set down his bag next to a tree stump, bending down marginally to root around inside it for something. Derek wasn't checking him out. He wasn't.

Any arousal he might have been experiencing were wiped away with Stiles's next words.

"I heard about the deaths of the two boys," Stiles murmurs quietly, the river behind him almost drowning out his words, "It was the Alphas, wasn't it?" He's paused in his searching, staring down at his long fingers inside his bag. He's still, too still, and the tawny feather in his ear doesn't sway an inch.

"Y-Yeah. It was them." Derek's throat is dry as he admits to it. They had been young, a year or two out from puberty, and they have been in pieces when he found them. Tiny little pieces. "They killed the boys."

Stiles's head wilts, and Derek can't help but step forward, can't stop himself resting a hand on Stiles's thin shoulder. He looks so young for a moment, peaky and cast in shadow - abnormally large eyes focused downwards, eyelashes brushing delicately against skin. 

"I should have offered my help when I first found you." Stiles sinks down onto the floor properly this time, legs folded beneath him, "I was worried about... fucking rabbits, you know? Can't feed myself, let alone John - and, and John will leave. I'd be alone again. But two boys died for that, Derek." his eyes are squeezed shut and his breathing is so deliberate and heavy Derek knows he's fighting to calm himself down. "They died because I can't handle being on my own. I could have done something."

He hunkers down besides him, hand staying tight on his shoulder as determination settles over his mind.

"It's not your fault Stiles. Okay?" Stiles tries to interrupt weakly, but Derek speaks over his complaints "No. No Stiles listen - if it's your fault for not getting yourself in harms way, then it's my fault, too, for not figuring this out before. For not protecting the townspeople. For not doing more." Stiles shakes beneath him, his skin cold when Derek touches his cheek, pulls their foreheads together.

"Come on, Stiles. It's happened. We couldn't stop it. But we can do something now, alright?" Stiles nods, though Derek can smell the mix of emotions rolling off him; panic, fear, confusion and something bitter and twisted. Something Derek can scent on Isaac when he can't keep up with the others. "I didn't know they'd start killing townsfolk, either. Our kind keep to themselves. You wouldn't have known they would do it,"

Eventually, Stiles comes out of his panic. His face is drawn and tiredness pulls even heavier at his eyelids, the hollows of his cheekbones seemingly deepened. He's clutching to Derek's hand still, not moving his sweat-laden forehead from Derek's own. Derek can hear his pulse gradually slowing, his scent become a touch less pungent, frightened. 

"It's for anxiety. " Stiles lips part minutely, "Or insomnia. Some people use it to treat wounds, aches, bad moods... You asked what it's for. I use it for my anxiety. Maypop root, that is. It helps." 

Warm breath spills out over his lips, and the smell is so sincerely Stiles it's all Derek can do to press them together closer, to touch more of his skin against him. Derek can accurately feel the wet forest floor against his legs, soaking against his skin but he can't seem to care when those amber eyes meet his own, deep and dark and wonderfully brilliant.

 _Home_ , he thinks, and something in his chest almost purrs.


End file.
